


Afterglow of Day

by Mab (Mab_Browne)



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Ableism, F/M, M/M, Permanent Injury, Spook Me Multi-Fandom Halloween Ficathon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:21:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27243376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mab_Browne/pseuds/Mab
Summary: It was disconcerting, to put it mildly, to see Hannibal watching the hospital staff while they tended to Will, especially given that Will knew that Hannibal was dead.
Relationships: Molly Graham/Will Graham, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 9
Kudos: 67
Collections: Spook Me Ficathon 2020





	Afterglow of Day

It was disconcerting, to put it mildly, to see Hannibal watching the hospital staff while they tended to Will, especially given that Will knew that Hannibal was dead. He stood off to the side, as if he were a consultant physician assessing patient care and being… adequately satisfied, and totally unnoticed by anyone except Will.

Gone crazy at last, Graham, Will told himself. Crazier. Congratulations on recognising habitual behaviour. Hello, psychosis, my old friend. He could hum that, if he tried. He wasn’t crazy enough to speak out loud, but he was so distracted by Hannibal’s gaze that he missed Luisa’s warning that they were about to turn him. It wasn’t until ‘ready, steady, go’ and the closer encroachment of nurse and nurse-aide that he even thought of preparing for the vertiginous sway as they laid him on his back once more.

But he was washed and changed. Ready for sleep, never an easy occupation. “Will, I’m just going to tilt the bed for you,” Luisa said, and did so.

“Thank you,” Will said and no more. They’d given up expecting a smile or anything more than perfunctory gratitude from him. He always had sharp hearing, and some of the staff didn’t appreciate his lack of manners. Luisa, however, took it all in her stride. “Call button is here on your good side,” she said. Her assistant wheeled out the cart, while the laundry bag hung heavily in Luisa’s hand. “See you next shift,” she said with a professionally pleasant smile, and left too.

It was lucky that they weren’t accustomed to a chatterbox Will Graham, because Will was silenced by Hannibal’s presence. The lights were dimmed for the evening, but you could hardly say that there were shadows. There were shadows where Hannibal lurked, even when he stepped into the better lit area of the room and leaned over Will, helpless in his bed.

“It’s a sad pass we’ve come to, is it not, Will?” Hannibal’s thumb tenderly stroked the crease of the scar along Will’s forehead.

“Hello, Hannibal.” Hannibal’s fingers were gentle, a little chilly, but quite real on Will’s skin, quite tangible. “You’re dead, you know.”

“Are you sure of that?” It was said drolly; one of Hannibal’s little conversational gambits where you were left floundering as to just who the joke might be on. He was dressed the way he so often was in Baltimore – in a suit, flamboyant in a dull, thin gold check on a maroon background. Money and old blood, Will thought. Hannibal’s pocket square was gold too. Everything was immaculate, except for Hannibal’s hands. Those were bruised and grazed, and the nails were broken, as if Hannibal had only recently fought for his life against dragon and sea rocks and water.

“Go away. I don’t need my brain fucking around with me again.”

Hannibal shook his head, regretful at Will’s intransigence. “I can assure you, there are neither antibiotics nor therapy to exorcise me.” 

“You’re dead,” Will said, horrified by the break in his voice. 

Hannibal looked immensely pleased. “It was a predictable consequence. The cliffs are very high there.”

“You’re dead, and I’m not.”

“Not everything is predictable. For example, I’m not sure when next I’ll see you, but I’m sure it will be soon.” He placed a kiss on Will’s brow. “Good night, Will. Sleep well.” He walked out, and the echo of his footsteps went on and on and followed Will into fitful sleep.

~*~

He didn’t believe Jack when he first tried to tell him that Hannibal was dead. Jack frowned in the face of Will’s agitated disbelief, and then backed off. Will hadn’t at all been a satisfactory witness in wrapping up the ill-fated attempt to trap Dolarhyde. He remembered it all. He would never forget it, but he had nothing to say. Amnesia after traumatic psychological stress and severe physical injury was a thing, and nobody could prove otherwise. Will had been messed up enough for years that nobody could deny that his loss of memory was as plausible as it was convenient.

“I can bring you proof he’s dead,” was all Jack had said. “Ask for it when you’re ready.”

Two weeks later, Will was as ready as he ever could be. “Prove it,” he rasped over a phone that Molly held for him. Jack returned. With him he brought ME files, autopsy files and photographs, Coroner’s reports, scene reports and photographs. He positioned them so that Will could examine them, and Will began with the chronological order of events. There were no pictures of him lying on the beach, just the markers to show where he was found, some hundred feet away from Hannibal. The currents carried them both some way from the gouged cliffs where they fell. 

Hannibal lay face down on the beach, as if he’d been walking away from Will. Was he in search of help, or escape, Will wondered. That was the one thing he truly didn’t recall – beaching like lost, disoriented sea beasts. He remembered hitting the water with dark, explosive power, the thunderclap of opposing forces followed by pain (more pain), and the steely grip of Hannibal’s hands. He would have welcomed it if they’d dragged him down, the final descent, but instead he woke to… this. To paralysis and Molly’s visits and the impersonal care of the staff and Jack’s concern (for Will, and _about_ Will) and eager, unsatisfied curiosity.

So. Hannibal was dead, it was a proven terrible truth and Will could choose the possibility of psychosis, or that Hannibal’s shade had raised itself despite the ashes of his body. Certainly Will’s own desires had no part in that particular matter. (Surely not.)

Haunted either way.

~*~

“Hey there,” Molly said and dropped a kiss onto his face. Will wasn’t sure if he was glad or sorry that he couldn’t reach up and caress her, couldn’t lift his head to meet her halfway. Will might have learned to accept that he enjoyed violence under Hannibal’s ‘tutelage’, but he never broke that measured urge in Will that was always irritated by Hannibal’s gleeful caprice. Molly would never know the whole truth because she deserved better than Will ever had to give her. That included the knowledge that nothing leapt in him at her kiss the way it had when Hannibal had put his lips on him.

“Hey,” he said, and creaked out a smile for Walter, present at Will’s bedside for the first time. There had been brief phone conversations but this was the first time that Walter had seen his step-father since the sting to trap Dolarhyde and everything that had come of that. And what a lot of everything it is, Will thought, as the smile threatened to come unhinged.

“Hi,” Walter said, but he didn’t come any closer. He looked small and pale and resentful in this hospital space.

“How are the dogs?” Will asked, and Walter relaxed a tad, and spun out a few sentences telling Will of feeding and exercising and training. “I’m not letting them sleep where they shouldn’t either,” he says wistfully.

“We had one night with a nest of dogs on the bed,” said Molly. “Only one.”

“You can’t confuse them. They need to know the rules apply all the time.”

Walter nodded. “Yeah, sure.” There was an awkward pause. “Mom, can I go get a soda?”

Molly pressed some money into his hand and the boy escaped.

“Sorry,” Molly said. She kissed him again in further apology but held herself carefully as she sat back in her chair

“We’re both a mess,” Will says. “You’re still in a lot of pain, aren’t you?”

“Oh, no, no, sweet man. No messes here.” She smiled and stroked her hand across the side of his face that wasn’t marked. “The good pills tided me over, and I just get a little achey now, that’s all.”

That was a lie, but Will granted it to her because she told it to avoid hurting him.

“I was going to have to send him away anyway. We need to talk about the house…”

“No.”

“Will, it’s not suitable for your… our needs anymore.”

“My needs include another month of hospital time minimum and then a lot of rehab. Let’s see what rehab gets us before you and Wally have to give up your home. Unless you want to sell it because of …Dolarhyde?” He nearly said ‘Francis’. Odd the things that created intimacy and fellow-feeling.

“No, no. You’d think I’d be scared to death out there, but I still love it. Call me crazy.”

“You’re the sanest person I know.”

She giggled at that, but her eyes looked a little teary, and very tired.

“And you’re the most stubborn person I know. We’re still going to have to talk about things eventually.”

“I know, but let’s give ourselves some time to heal too.”

“You’ll need a home, Will. One that works for you.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he snapped. That cosy home among the trees would never be his again, and not because of the break in his spine. “I’m sorry, it’s just… difficult right now.”

She nodded, and spoke of inconsequential things – the dogs, the woods, people in their community and how many casserole dishes and plates Molly was going to have to give back, while Will grunted occasional attentive noises to show that he was listening. He didn’t have a lot of conversation when you got down to it, unless Molly gave a damn about his laxative doses.

She rose once and went to the door of his room, looked down the hall and made an irritated noise.

“Is he there?” Will asked. He’d seen the anxious fidgets start, and couldn’t blame her for them. The irritation didn’t cover her relief that her son was in sight and safe.

“Yes, he’s there. I should tan his hide for ignoring you.”

“Don’t. We’ve been talking grown-up talk after all.”

“Oh yes, so much grown up talk,” she said bitterly. “All those important things like how Vera Reynolds puts too much onion in her stew.”

“Molly,” he murmured helplessly. His ‘good’ hand flailed and twitched with the attempt to touch her. “Don’t.”

“I thought I’d resigned myself to you not coming back the same but this was outside my wildest dreams. And they’ve been pretty wild what with the good drugs.”

“I guess they would have been, yes.”

“We can’t ignore the future forever, Will. We can’t.”

“Let me get past this first, sweetheart. Please.”

“I get it. I really do. But…” She trailed off, unhappy. That was his girl. Brave. Determined to deal with things, to speak her mind. But not his girl, now. Not with Hannibal Lecter standing in the shadows. Hannibal had thrown a long shadow even from the BHCI, and Will had turned up his collar and pretended he didn’t feel the cold. More fool, Will.

She and Walter left soon after. Molly shivered, performative but genuinely chilled. “I’ll talk to the nurses at the desk on the way out. They need to turn the heat up in here.” Walter lifted one hand in silent, tentative goodbye, and they were gone. 

It stayed cold in the room. “It’s not like you to be shy, Hannibal,” Will said to the empty air.

“It would be rude to intrude on a family occasion,” Hannibal said, with a dry twist to his mouth that suggested a badly seasoned stew. A ragout. A casserole perhaps. Hannibal didn’t eat anything as plebeian as stew, and he didn’t give a good goddamn about anyone’s family. But this was, Will realised (assuming that Hannibal was really there, and why not, let’s assume that, because if ever some son of a bitch would haul himself out of the afterlife to make someone’s life a misery, that son of a bitch was Hannibal) the first time that Hannibal would have seen Will and Molly together. This would be the first time he’d seen them speak, the first time he’d seen Molly touch Will. Something that belonged to Will not of Hannibal Lecter’s giving,

A quick, bright rage ignited in Will. “Rude as compared to what? Eavesdropping? Sending the Red Dragon after them?” 

Hannibal never had much facial affect. You watched the eyes, and those eyes had all the warmth of a stone in a glacial river; jealous. “Why should you care? Especially now? Francis and I between us stepped on a playhouse. A toy. You were far beyond them even before, and now…”

“You kill one serial killer together and a guy thinks he owns you,” Will murmured. 

“Of course I do. But it applies that you also own me. Your wife and step-son are a quite literal embarrassment of riches. I warned you before that banality was inevitable. What do you think will survive when your wife has to help you eat, when she wipes your ass for you?”

“That’s-“ Will began, but Hannibal gestured, assured and unbearably smug.

“Physiotherapy will return you some additional use of your good hand. You might feed yourself. I regret the exaggeration.”

“The hell you do.” Will’s eyes burned. It was too much: Walter’s wariness, Molly’s grief, Hannibal standing there with his immaculate suit and damaged hands. “Christ, I need to talk to a psychotherapist.”

“Perhaps Alana might recommend one. To help out an old friend.”

“Go away. Will you just go away!” He shut his eyes as he shouted, and when he opened them again Hannibal was gone, but one of the nurses stood in the doorway.

“Is everything okay?” she asked.

“I’m fine. I think I dropped off, had a nightmare.”

“Okay. Do you need anything since I’m here?”

“I’m fine.” He remembered to say, “Thank you.”

~*~

Perseverance with a plan was a Lecter strength, and whatever plan Hannibal had, he was certainly persevering. Will woke in the small hours to see him there. There was an uncertain pressure – Hannibal’s hand resting on his.

“You just can’t let me be, can you?”

“Circumstances have ensured that I always know where to find you.” Oh, that should have stung, but the days were long and the nights were longer, and Hannibal’s sly one-upmanship and his pleasure in it was amusing. Comforting, even. Hannibal Lecter was a petty bastard and so not all the world was as broken as Will’s neck. “So I take advantage.”

“Isn’t it me, taking advantage?”

“Using memories, and that uncanny empathy of yours, to reinforce delusion? It could be, I suppose.” Hannibal smiled. “But we both know it’s not.”

“So you say.”

Hannibal withdrew his hand to adjust his already perfectly aligned shirt cuffs. “So doubtful,” he scoffed.

“You know why I wonder if you’re me? My mind bringing you back?”

“I’m sure you’ll tell me. There is, after all, no need for secrets between us now.”

“It’s not exactly a secret. I killed you, Hannibal. I tipped us over that cliff edge, because where else was left for us to go.”

Hannibal’s eyes shone ferociously. “Afraid to lose transcendence? You’d achieved an apotheosis far more sure than any sought by poor Francis.”

“I think I can honestly say I wasn’t that concerned with transcendence,” Will said, desert dry. “And if you’re anything more than a stutter of my brain chemistry, then I think I can also honestly say that you’re not a forgiving sort of man.”

“You fascinated me in life. Why should you not fascinate me in death? And as you say, I am not forgiving.” A quirk of a brow, the tiniest shrug. “Coming back to torment you is not outside my capacities. But you don’t feel tormented, and that’s why you doubt your senses?”

“Something like that.”

“Well then. I will give thought to some convincing torments.” Flirtation by threat of harm. Damn, but Will Graham could pick them. “But you need your sleep, Will. I should go.” And he was gone, and all Will could think was that the empty space seemed a fairly convincing torment right there.

~*~

Will drew back his arm. Tension, release, the whir of the fishing line unspooling, the quiet splash of the lure and anchor landing downstream. Only memory, but convincing, vivid memory and Will lifted his face to a recreation of the sun on his face and a vivid blue sky.

Experimentally, he tried to summon Hannibal’s presence. Maybe standing on the bank, watching, outfitted in something natty for the sporting gentleman. Will could see him there, indulgent, forcefully present, but it was only an image. Imagination. The shade inside his head smiled, but only because Will made him. Unsettled, Will erased this unsatisfactory Hannibal from the picture and lost himself in the memory of fishing. There were a couple of dogs gambolling nearby; that was better.

“You’re aware that respiratory illness is a common cause of death among the tetraplegic?” The Hannibal by the river had been silent. This one not so much, and he had a hell of a way to say hello.

“It might have been mentioned in my background reading.” 

A suit, again, of course. Hannibal did love his display. Will would have options that weren’t gowns in perhaps a week, according to his care team. T-shirts and sweat pants and the exploration of rehab. Progress.

“There are worse ways to die. And better of course.” If anyone would know, it was Hannibal Lecter, and he did love to share the knowledge around.

“Are you offering, Hannibal? Have we finally come to the point?”

“I suppose we have. You can’t want to live like this. Your mind is a wonder, it’s true, but there are few physical comforts in your future.”

“And I see we’ve come around to the torments after all.”

“We’ve come to nothing! We’re separated, a gulf between us!” The words burst out like blood from a cut throat, and Will was silenced by surprise. Hannibal seldom let that much passion show. Maybe Hannibal was surprised too. His next words were far more contained. “I find that I resent it. I always wanted us to be together, and it seems to me that we could be.”

“Dead.”

Oh, that smile. “I’m dead, and yet here we are. But it’s not enough. You could do it. I found you, you could find me.” One finger tapped gently on Will’s temple. “This marvellous mind.”

“Are you going to offer me all the kingdoms of the next world, Hannibal?

“There are wonders.” Hannibal pinned Will with a look. “I would indeed like to show them to you.”

“And all it would take is a little convenient pneumonia.” It was surprisingly attractive, a nihilist, sourly pleasing fantasy. “I can survive this, Hannibal. I survived you, and I survived losing you.”

Hannibal leaned down, both hands on Will’s shoulders. “This bed isn’t your punishment, your straitjacket for the monster. It’s a consequence of a choice, but you can make other choices.”

“And you want me to do that.”

“It is beautiful, Will. I promise.” Hannibal bent down even lower, closer, his breath warm, not cold at all, on Will’s skin, and kissed him again, on the mouth this time. “Speak the word. When you’re ready.” He stood, and licked his lips as if Will’s dry, slightly chapped lips were something delicious. “When you’re ready.”

Two days was all it took. Two days of mulling it over, knowing all the reasons why it was insane. Two days.

“I’m saying the word, Hannibal. Put up or shut up. Prove me crazy or prove me wrong.” And he shut his eyes and waited… for nothing.

He woke at three a.m. the next night, feverishly hot. The call button was by his hand. 

He ignored it. And he smiled.


End file.
